


Dawn

by Viscariafields



Series: Leandra Hawke [22]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Insomnia, JUST FLUFF REALLY, hawke being emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Hawke can't sleep, and that probably makes her a little emotional.Just some relationship fluff with her and Fenris.





	Dawn

Hawke couldn’t sleep. It was a rarity for her-- usually her head hit the pillow and with very little fanfare the sun rose again, peeked through her curtains, and woke her up. But tonight, with no warning, whatever part of her body was responsible for initiating the miracle of slumber had mysteriously taken the evening off.

“Read, love,” Fenris suggested without even opening his eyes. He probably had experience in insomnia, so read she did. She finished the book on her side of the bed, and when that seemed to have no effect on her wakeful mind, she reached over him to take the book from his. She could feel daybreak creeping ever closer with each turn of the page, so she sighed and extinguished her lamp and waited for the predawn glow to become post-dawn daylight and end this failure of a night.

Well, at least she had learned some things, and not just from the contents of their books. Fenris was a rude sleeper. She’d suspected it in the past, but now she knew for certain. He was a persistent thief of covers, so she gave in and let him win, but in a fit of warmth, rather than return them he threw them over the side of the bed. Then, cold again, he came to her for her warmth, slowly inching closer and closer until his head rested on her chest. This suited her, though she would have liked to have their covers back for her poor, cold legs just the same. But as long as he was going to rest on her like this, she didn’t want to move. She couldn’t risk him edging away to some far corner of the bed.

She ran her fingers through his hair, and he made a tiny noise, almost a sigh. He followed it with the smallest stretch, and Hawke suddenly felt her chest was so full she couldn’t stand it. The world suddenly seemed so beautiful and so unjust all at once. Beautiful that Fenris was here, with her, that he made small noises and stretched and stole covers and slept fitfully, and unjust that she had spent so many nights not knowing all of this, that even knowing this she might spend more nights in her life without him, and unjust for everyone else that of all the people in the world, she should have the luck to have the privilege to love him. And that was the strongest feeling threatening to explode her chest right now-- love. With nowhere to go, all this love and just her body to hold it, it started to escape.

Hawke began to cry.

At first, just a couple of surprised tears rolled down her cheeks. Then it grew into something real, something that had a hold of her. Her chest began to shake with her ragged breaths and now her nose was running and crying was just something that was happening to her.

“Hawke?”

Fuck. Fenris was stirring, awoken by her embarrassing display of whatever this was. He raised his sleepy head off her chest. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, and fuck her if it didn’t come out as a whimper.

He sat up in the bed and looked at her. “You’re crying.”

She sniffled, as if to validate his observation. “Sometimes people cry.”

“Normally there is a reason. Has something happened?”

“It’s probably because I’m cold,” she said, planting a frozen foot on his calf for good measure. He yelped and pulled away from her. “Somebody decided we didn’t need covers anymore.”

Fenris fetched their blankets from the floor and wrapped her up in them. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. “Was it a nightmare?”

She wasn’t even really crying anymore. He didn’t need to fuss. Not that she disliked him tending to her, but she would prefer pretending she was devoid of emotions while he did it. “No. I didn’t sleep.”

“At all?”

“No.”

He hummed.

“Oh, don’t look so smug. That’s not why I’m crying. Was crying.” She wiped the few last tears from her sodden cheek.

He raised an eyebrow and threatened to smile. “So there is a reason?”

It was hard to resist the urge to kick him. She pulled the covers tighter around herself and sighed. “Oh, all right. I was thinking about how sad it is that Varric will never know victory in Wicked Grace.”

“Hawke.”

“And I was thinking about all the lonely Avvar who will never know the love of the Maker.”

“Hawke.”

“If you absolutely must know the inner workings of my mind, Fenris, I started crying because you sighed.”

“I sighed,” he repeated back to her.

“And you made a small sound,” she added.

“And this sound was… distressing?”

“No. The opposite. It was very endearing. I think the next time we’re in trouble you should try to look as sleepy as you did just then and make that small sound, and whoever is bothering us will be sure to melt on the spot.”

“Is this--” He ran a hand through his hair. “--Is this like the time you saw a baby mabari and were rendered speechless for an hour?”

“N-no,” she lied unconvincingly.

“Kaffas.” He walked to the window and wrenched the curtains open, letting in the morning. “I was actually worried for a moment.” The light hit his face, and once again she felt dazzled, overwhelmed his skin lit up with the dawn and his hair gleamed. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes again, ridiculous as they were, and she quickly tried to blink them away. Fenris’s look of irritation split into a grin. “Again?”

She sniffed as he dressed. “It’s an allergy. I’m allergic to beauty.”

“Is that so?” Clothed, he closed the curtains again and padded back to her. “Sleep, love. My beauty will pester you no longer this morning.”

He kissed her on the forehead, and Hawke was surprised to find she was a bit sleepy after all. Her head hit the pillow and whether it was the exhaustion of all that crying or just her wakeful night, Hawke slept.

**Author's Note:**

> I always cry a lot when I can't sleep, so I'm imparting that trait onto Hawke.


End file.
